


Saving Grace

by daniko



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Noncanonical Character Death, Romance, Slash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-07-20
Updated: 2011-07-20
Packaged: 2017-10-21 14:14:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,033
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/226104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/daniko/pseuds/daniko
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry Potter could see the full moon in the sky as he turned his head to the side and looked out of the window.  The stars shone, too.  There were no artificial lights, like in the city, to obfuscate their glow.  One never knows what the future might bring, but when it matters, nobody misses it.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Saving Grace

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
> 
> Written for Kammerreon’s Birthday Challenge @ Kammerreon’s Kloset.

Harry Potter could see the full moon in the sky as he turned his head to the side and looked out of the window. The stars shone, too. There were no artificial lights to obfuscate their glow since the mighty manor was situated just outside the city, close enough to attract its inhabitants and far enough that nobody could hear the screams . . . and people screamed in here alright.

The bed was situated between two large windows and Harry was sitting on that same bed, dressed in black leather pants and uncomfortable corset, both of which had the appropriate gear to allow someone – the one he was waiting for – to tie him to the four posts of the bed. To be precise, Harry was wondering what, in the name of the gods, had possessed him to come to such a place. His mind was detaching itself from his body as dread and anticipation filled him.

Submitting to another person, giving himself up, had had its appeal after a painful war and an even more painful break-up. Over his role in the war, Harry had had no choice, but he could have made his life with his Ginny work out . . . He simply hadn't. It hadn't felt right to be happy when Ron couldn't. Ginny had understood at first, but, as everyone recovered, Harry was left behind.

Then again, none of them had been to blame by six years of war. Harry was. He refused to let himself forget and heal; he wanted this reminder, this infecting wound to be a homage to all those who had given their lives for him. For Hermione.

Regardless, at the moment, the punishment he had initially sought out was looking like a very bad idea. Harry didn't like pain. Harry didn't want to be punished. Harry just wanted not to be himself . . . And that was why he had come here – to have someone reminding him that he could give himself up. Even so, he _really_ didn't want the pain; he had had enough of that to last a life time—

That was when Harry saw him. The one he had been waiting for. It was a he – because Harry needed a _he_ – and he was beautiful. Harry would have felt excited and thrilled, and eager for release, had he not been wearing a kinky suit and dreading to be spanked.

The man was wearing a mask that distorted his face and, so, Harry could not see him, but something about the way the taller man moved and swayed his narrow hips made Harry's self-preservation instincts come to life. The broad hairless chest was covered in a silky red corset and the man was wearing black knickers. He had blond hair, almost white, and both the hair and the pale complexion shone with a silvery glow in the moonlight.

All of him exuded an aura of seduction and danger. Harry could tell that only obedience would be allowed of him. The man lifted his masked face and gazed at Harry. Harry thought he saw him flinch, but since that could not be true, he just dismissed it.

"Harry Potter," the man began in a low, rough voice, and he sounded so very pleased. "Of all the annoying, Gryffindor do-gooders, I must say I never quite expected you to be the one to come here." Harry said nothing; he couldn't anyway, because he felt like a butterfly caught in a spider's web. The way the man was speaking, and the hinted menace in his words, told Harry that this man knew him. And that the man hated him. Finally, Harry found his voice, as raspy and breathless as it sounded.

"Should I leave?" he asked. The man chuckled, a bit manically, and Harry wondered if he was on drugs; he certainly sounded that way and his eyes were so dark that mere lust would never made anyone look so lost – even if there was a very hard, material evidence proving otherwise.

"Oh, no," the blond said, "you paid to be pleasured and pleasured you shall be." As soon as he finished talking, a low music started to play. It was a mix of jazz and Latino rhythms.

Abruptly, Harry found himself sprawled on the bed and the cuffs on his wrists and ankles bound tightly to the canopy. His heart beat increased and it wasn't in a good way. He was beginning to feel disgusted with himself; he didn't want to have sex with a stranger; it would be an offense to Ginny if he allowed himself to be touched by someone he didn't love.

The blond started to move his body graciously and in perfect harmony with the music, from a frenetic choreography into a slow sway, running his hands through his body and caressing himself, until Harry was panting and longing for the blond's touch more than anything else.

As if he had read Harry's thoughts, the sensuous man moved towards the bed and tugged on Harry's restraints, reminding Harry of who he was and what he was about to do. He tensed further when the man brought a paddle into the play and slowly caressed Harry's chest with it.

As if on cue, Harry's mind reminded him that Hermione must have suffered a lot more towards the end of her life, suffering from a dark, incurable curse. Then his whole body relaxed and he prepared himself to take the punishment for his carelessness, his selfishness and for not being there for his friends when they needed him.

The man straddling his hips stopped. Confused, Harry looked up at him, just to see the blond frozen on the spot, gazing at Harry warily.

"You don't seek pleasure," he stated. Harry saw no need to deny the truthful accusation, so he nodded. The blond sighed; slowly he brought his hands to his mask as he said, "I will not release you until I'm sure you won't hurt me." Then he took off his mask. Harry gasped, but he felt no urge to attack the other. Suddenly, he felt very tired. Fighting against one's own conscience tended to do that to people.

Draco Malfoy was still staring at him and Harry, unable to come up with an appropriate course of action, just stared right back. Malfoy must have liked what he saw in Harry's eyes, because he sat back on his heels and released him. Harry caressed his sore joints. "Thanks," he said, dryly.

Malfoy was now looking at him with a mix of sorrow and pity; he cleared his throat. "Potter," he began a bit breathless. Harry held up a hand. It had been too much to see Malfoy settle between his spread legs. Suddenly, he needed to forget, to find himself somewhere else, where nothing from his past life could haunt him. Even here, in this godforsaken house, Harry was tried against his former deeds. His own prejudice, selfishness, arrogance.

"I came here to be pleasured, so pleasure me." The order was impersonal and cold. Harry never thought he could speak in such a tone, but right now he could not let himself wallow in self-commiseration, because he wouldn't come out of it. Right now, he would like Malfoy to take his mind off the terrible reality that was his life. Looking at him, he thought it was an ironic twist of fate that made Malfoy be the one to make Harry pay for his sins. "Fuck me, and don't speak."

Malfoy did as he was told.

It was the first time Harry was with a man, and he was pleasured in a way he never thought to be possible, but that was not what surprised him. What surprised him was that Malfoy took off his mask completely and undressed until his beautiful body was bare to Harry's eyes; and then, he dimmed the lights of the room enough that only an orange glow allowed them to see, he unmade the bed until they laid on the satin sheets, he eased Harry onto his back and fucked him so slowly, so long and so gently that Harry could hardly call it a fuck.

That unsettled him. A man can't make love to a man; that is a privilege reserved for women. With men, you just fuck. Men don't love men; that was just wrong.

After a moment, any complaint that Harry could have possibly had faded with the pleasure his boyhood nemesis was giving him; just the thought was hysterical, but Harry also let go of that when Malfoy thrust in and hit something inside him just the right way to make him scream. Unable to help himself, he curled his arms around Malfoy's neck and held on tightly, as he cried out his pleasure and his pain for past tragedies.

Harry lost conscience when his orgasm took him to a new high, where the only thing that mattered was him and the gorgeous man between his thighs.

Next morning came too soon, but as surely as the sun was to rise.

Harry sat up and found himself alone in the room. Against his will and logic, he felt disappointed and he couldn't even pinpoint the reason. It didn't matter since he had got what he had come here for. Forgetfulness. With a wince, he thought that he must have wept last night—on Malfoy's shoulder of all people. Harry would have died of mortification, had he not felt better, less oppressed.

After a bit of lounging about, Harry got up and dressed himself. That was when he noticed the piece of parchment stuck on the mirror's frame. He Summoned the note and read it. It was very simply written, but it made him feel a myriad of things that he was sure he wasn't supposed to.

> Potter—  
> I made a reservation in your name for next Friday, at the same time. I expect you not to be late.  
> D. Malfoy.

~~DM*HP~~DM*HP~~DM*HP~~

Harry pondered for the rest of the week if he should return to the manor or not. In the end, he berated himself harshly for wanting Malfoy again and he hated himself for betraying Ginny, because his heart was still hers and feared it would always be. Unable to help himself, Harry went, reasoning that since his sins were so high he was certainly going to hell, he might as well enjoy the ride.

That night, they didn't go to the bedroom, though, and Harry was secretly thankful for that. Instead, Malfoy dragged him outside, took his arm and Apparated them away. When Harry gathered his bearings, he could only gape in astonishment. Before him and flowing into the distance, was a river that glimmered in the moonlight. The clearing that surrounded them was limited by trees and it was obviously a private sanctuary.

Harry didn't know where they were and he found out that he didn't care.

Malfoy made him lay on the shore, with his head on his lap. Slowly, but firmly, Malfoy began to massage Harry's face, from his temples to his scalp. Harry hadn't known it, but he could purr like a content kitten and, much to his eternal dismay, he had done so at the feeling of Malfoy's hands. When Harry was relaxed enough, Malfoy took his body again, and he did so even more reverently than the previous time.

~~DM*HP~~DM*HP~~DM*HP~~

Harry didn't need prompting to return the next week, or the week after that, and before he knew it, a whole year had passed and he still visited Malfoy on each Friday and they still didn't speak to one another besides greetings – essentially from Harry – and practicalities. It was as if Malfoy was still following the order Harry had gave him that first time. Malfoy would only caress Harry's body, Harry would let him, and then he would love Harry thoroughly. Harry still worked at the Ministry and Malfoy still worked as a lawyer at the manor, but Harry knew that Malfoy wasn't seeing anyone besides himself, not anymore.

What to make of it, he didn't know. He didn't even know why Malfoy had been allowing people he didn't know to touch him in the first place. It wasn't as if he was selling himself, Harry was sure of it. As it was, it was the fascinating mystery that was Draco Malfoy that made Harry keep on returning to the manor . . . Or so he told himself, and Harry told himself a lot of things these days that weren't true.

They had met each other in public, briefly, once, but they didn't address one another, nor did they look at each other . . . But then, the following Friday, Malfoy had fucked Harry hard and long, as if he was marking his territory. Harry had let him, unable to squash the warm feeling that crept into his chest at Malfoy's abandoned possessiveness. In the end, after Malfoy threw his head back and cried triumphantly when he came, Harry had held him tightly until the tension left his body.

It was the first time Harry slept in the manor, holding Malfoy close in a dark room illuminated only by the stars and the moon.

~~DM*HP~~DM*HP~~DM*HP~~

Thirteen months after the liaison began, on a Friday afternoon, Ginny approached Harry when he was leaving the Auror Office and threw the usual diatribe at him. The Weasleys were concerned, Ron was concerned, Harry didn't show up on the Sunday lunches anymore, they had respected his grieve for the end of Harry and Ginny's relationship, but it was time to come home, they missed him and Ginny was truly sorry for the way things ended and so on.

Actually, after Ginny apologised for breaking up with him with so many harsh words, Harry didn't think he heard anything else. He just stared at her, wondering if it was possible for him not to feel anything for this woman anymore. Well, he still cared if she was well and healthy, but not the way he had cared once, when she had been the one strong enough to hold him through the night. She was not that person anymore and it was with horror that he realised who that was.

"Have dinner with us tonight, Harry," she asked, boldly and with the known arrogance that made her believe nobody could ever deny her, just like she did everything else.

Harry thought about it for a moment and decided to accept.

Harry might still be resenting the way Ginny thought he belonged to her when she had been the one to destroy the trust between them, but – truth be told – he missed the Weasleys. They had been his family when everyone had turned his back on him, and he really missed Ron. He had, long ago, stopped resenting Ron for finding happiness with someone other than Hermione and he should really meet his red-headed goddaughter sometime soon.

That Friday, Harry missed their implicit engagement. He begrudgingly admitted that he was rebelling against the control Malfoy seem to have over him, since the blond was all that Harry cared and thought about these days. Harry rebelliously thought that he was showing Malfoy he didn't need him, but he was the one who couldn't sleep that night, threatened by old memories and guiltily wondering if Malfoy was feeling restless as well.

Next morning, Harry was awakened by the insistent ringing of his doorbell. Blindly and sleepily, he walked to the doorway and peeked through the peephole. Immediately, he regained his awareness and opened the door, letting a coolly detached blond into his small flat. Malfoy looked awful. He had deep bags under his eyes and they were red-rimmed. He said nothing, just gave Harry a long, hard look and left. Looking back on it, Harry realised that Malfoy had probably come to see if Harry was okay or if he had really ditched him.

Harry didn't think he had ever felt this awful in over a year.

Unable to return to bed, he made coffee and thought about what to do next. There were few choices. He could forget Malfoy and the tenderness of his touch, or he could try this— _relationship_ they had and ask for forgiveness. Harry frowned, deep in thought, unaware of the owl that had just started to peck on his window. It was not a relationship, though, was it? Malfoy was just doing what it was that he did with his lovers. But, then again, Malfoy usually got off on enslaving his lovers, not walking in the moonlight with them. Harry felt very confused.

Before he knew it, it was night-time, and Ron Floo’d into Harry's flat to invite him for dinner at his house, with his wife and their daughter – and demand an explanation for ignoring his owl. Harry refused the invitation, leaving Ron a bit hurt, but he couldn't be bothered by it. He had his own issues to deal with.

Harry walked into his balcony and, with a start, realised that the city artificial lights made impossible for him to distinguish the night sky.

~~DM*HP~~DM*HP~~DM*HP~~

Harry fidgeted nervously as he waited for the door of the mighty manor to open. A house-elf, one that Harry knew to be called Ninny, opened the door and politely guided him into the parlour, a cosy room decorated with black leather seats and greenish tapestries. Taking a seat in front of the magically burning fireplace, Harry waited for a long time, and he was about to give up, when the door open to reveal a dashing blond, gazing at Harry calculatingly and coolly.

"What can I do for you?" Malfoy asked, moving towards Harry with the grace of the confident. Harry winced. It would have been better if Malfoy had shouted at him, but of course, he wouldn't do such a thing. They sat in front of each other, assessing each other, and after a moment tea and cookies appeared in front of them, undoubtedly sent by the house-elves. Harry took a deep breath – and a sip of his tea to hide it – and began his rehearsed speech.

"I want to know what you want from me," Harry demanded, only just above a whisper, his imaginary confidence gone. Malfoy gave him a long look and, not for the first time, Harry wondered what had happened to Malfoy to make him this detached from the reality. It was as if Malfoy was living for other people's wishes and for that only. Still Harry deserved to know why Malfoy gave so much importance to what they had here – whatever that was.

"I want nothing from you," Malfoy replied, "What I wanted, you already gave me when you spread your legs for me." Harry gaped in shock for hearing such a blatant, callous lie. "I see what people need and I give them that. You needed someone to love you, so I gave you my heart. Our business is done." Harry stared for a moment, his mind reeling with possibilities, until he finally had his epiphany.

Malfoy was as much in denial as Harry was. For some reason, Malfoy thought he should not take anything from this life for himself, and only give other's what they wanted. Perhaps he was also trying to atone for his wrong deeds. He seemed not to understand why he had got mad at Harry for not showing up and why he had gone to such lengths to give Harry the romance and love he indeed, and so desperately, craved for.

"You cannot offer your heart by wishing it," Harry informed him, at last. Malfoy looked at him as if seeing him for the first time, just like he always did when he held Harry close to him, after a very satisfying bout of intercourse.

"Of course you can," Malfoy retorted, matter-of-factly, "I did, and now I don't love you anymore."

Again, Harry said nothing for a while longer. No matter how hard he tried he couldn't begin to fathom how Malfoy had become so delusional about relationships. Then again, Harry hardly knew what had happened to him during the war. Then, without knowing what prompted him to act or denying it, Harry got up, knelt in front of Malfoy and kissed him, gently, just pressing his lips against Malfoy's lightly, but with the sweetness of all of their encounters.

When he drew back, Malfoy had his eyes closed and his blond eyelids were fluttering against his cheeks; he seemed mesmerized. Grey eyes opened and they were so clear Harry could see everything about the blond, something he had only managed at night, in a moonlit room. The confusion, surprise, longing and an almost childish eagerness for Harry, they were all there.

Nothing could quite compare to this moment, when Harry knew – he just knew – that it was okay; there was nothing wrong with him, nor there was anything wrong with wanting Malfoy, and that both of them, wicked and sinful as they were, deserved this happiness.

Harry stood up and pulled the taller man with him. All of a sudden, Malfoy seemed very insecure, as if he had never done something like this. Swiftly, Harry curled his arms around Malfoy's neck and pulled him down for a deeper kiss. For the first time, Malfoy allowed himself to be ravished and Harry did so thoroughly.

As if in a haze, and never breaking the gentle contact between their hands, they moved together through the dark corridors, into the bedroom that had witnessed so many of their encounters, and flopped onto the unmade bed. Malfoy looked like a god, in all his ghostly-white glory against the purple sheets. He broke the kiss for a moment and gazed straight at Harry with his lust-filled eyes.

"It's been a long time, Harry," he said, breathlessly. Harry felt his heart lurch pleasantly at the wantonness he saw displayed on Malfoy's face.

"Shush, I'm right here," he reassured, caressing Malfoy's soft cheek tenderly, "I think you should be cared for, too. Maybe you want someone to love you, too. I think you do."

Then Malfoy flashed Harry a teasing smirk, and suddenly he resembled the mischievous boy he was at school, before the war, the death and the suffering. "You're so sappy," he teased, but leaned against the touch nonetheless. Harry smiled.

"You know you like it." Such a cliché and it still made them both feel so safe.

Harry lay down next to Malfoy and kissed his cheek amorously, making him blink in surprise. Harry smiled at him, but then pushed Malfoy onto his side and embraced the slender body from behind, cradling the other close, mapping the taller body once again, at the same time he kissed every expanse of skin he could reach. Malfoy whimpered in need, and the sound fed Harry's eagerness, only making him ache for more.

Harry prepared his lover until he was certain that Malfoy would only feel pleasure in their lovemaking; by the end of it, Malfoy was a keening mess, pleading for more. Harry thrust into that heated body, holding Malfoy through his passionate pleasure. Malfoy moaned and cried out, his body singing in perfect harmony with Harry's touch.

They reached their climax together, crying out triumphantly, just as both of them thanked silently to every deity they could think of for their saving grace.

Afterwards, they held onto each other tightly, neither willing to feel the coldness of the night ever again. Harry spooned his body against Malfoy's and ran his hands over the other's arms leisurely, moving downwards, until he reached the graceful hand and entwined their fingers. Malfoy brought his other hand up and stroked Harry's forearm.

"I think you should move in," the blond said after a while.

Harry froze, in wonder and caution. Had he heard right? "What?"

"I think you should move in," Malfoy repeated, his voice breaking to convey how nervous he felt, Harry noticed now that he knew what to look out for. "You flat is way too small and, besides, you can't see the stars out there." Harry agreed with that reasoning wholeheartedly.

THE END

**Author's Note:**

> Hum, I don't quite know what I can say about this short-story.
> 
> Way smaller than my usual ones, but it still feels right to me . . . I think the idea of how they put their lives on hold is clear between the lines and that they only lived on Fridays. I also wanted to hint at how they helped each other heal, how this is about their own issues.


End file.
